Hel's Sanction Tradition / Ritual in Bloheron | World Anvil
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Hel's Sanction


This necromantic ritual was last used by Hillevi Hugrkveða. In her desparation to stave off the inevitable withering of her body she sought to bargin with Hel herself. While unmoved by mortal pleas, Hel saw an opportunity to expand her dominion. Hel permitted Hillevi to stave off the withering of age, retaining her beauty. In exchange, her very presence would sap the vitality from every living thing around her. If she were to touch them, their life would fade far more rapidly. Even her voice would drain the life from all who could hear her. Eventually any creatures succumbing to death were said "to walk in two worlds, both here and there, forever after lingering within the very presence and tongue of the one that doomed them."   Hillevi had preserved her body in this wretched pact with Hel, and in so doing surrounded herself with the very withering and decay she so much feared. As the years wore on she gathered to herself a horde of shambling creatures, not quite dead, and not quite living. Finally, in despair she attempted to end her life of horror. When her soul stood at last at Hel's gate she was refused entry and hurled back.   She awoke, wracked with pain and hunger. Finding no relief, she fled into the wilderness and seeing two hunters called out to them. They immediately fell, dead, instead of fading into the twilight death. Hillevi instantly felt invigorated, the pain and hunger but a memory. Finally realizing her wyrd was upon her, she withdraw to her steading and in the years to come resigned herself to fate, regretting the foolishness of youth. In this way she became the first new Lich to walk Urrth since the Aeon of Purging. Such creatures as those under Hillevi's sway are still sometimes refered to as Hillevi's Children and in some colorful prose have been elevated to Hillevi's Lovers.


When no moons show in the sky, and the deep cave is wandered by, burn the ancient woods four, pale of skin face east no more. Enter within your last womb, call to the queen's final tomb, burn thine flesh you must, annoint thyself in final dust. Take eyes to see the threads, weave them 'round your dreads, of this cloth craft the shroud, pierce the choking cloud. In shine of darkened disc, birthwater dost thou mist, garbed with your fate, speak to dishonor's mate.

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